Why You Need To Hear Anne Heraty Speak At Our Networking Breakfast

Dublin’s Best Gastropub?

It’s a drizzly summer evening as me and +1 rock up to Bath Avenue. Billy Elliot at the Grand Canal Theatre hadn’t been all that, so we’d slid out at the interval, slightly shell-shocked by the SINGING. Turns out we’re not musical people.

At The Old Spot, thankfully, a relaxed cosiness seemed to be the only thing turned up to 11.

We had a pint in the comfy bar before Dublin front-of-house reliable, Conor Kavanagh, brought us to a lovely, snug table down at the back of the dining room. The restaurant is clubby, dark, but in a cosseting, rather than dreary, way.

Our waiter, a friendly Floridian woman, was perfectly knowledgeable, attentive, yet never overbearing – a fine exemplar of the best of North American service professionalism – and a pretty cool lady to boot.

The menu was short and although there were a number of interesting specials available, we stuck mostly to the carte. To start, a shared 1/2 dozen rock oysters. Plump, firm with a fresh, briny tang, these Waterford beauties were all that fresh Irish oysters can be.

To drink, +1 requested “something very hoppy.” The Bru Rí Irish Craft IPA we got was very nice, though the hops played more of a subtle supporting role to the scene-stealing of the floral/chocolate centre stage.

For mains, the curious ‘gnudi’ caught +1’s eye – a gnocchi-style dumpling made with ricotta rather than spud, which makes for a lighter bellyful. The basil-green gnudi came with a medley of fresh greens, dressed in fresh mint and rich shavings of aged Parmesan and delicate summer truffle (€18). It impressed in spades. On Conor’s recommendation, I went for the free range pork. Why there aren’t more restaurants executing pork like this, I don’t know – there’s more to manly meat dishes than beef, lads – the Flintstone-sized ‘chop’ was absolutely cracking, accompanied by a harmonious smattering of warm earthy beets, crisp fondant potato, sweet Irish cherries and a spiky mustard jus (€24).

As puritanical followers of the Most Holy Church of the Round White Dinner Plate, our one niggle was with the heretical crockery: black, textured, triangular, rectangular, wool … I may have made up the last one up … all had a role, but it was very much a First World problem, so we soon got over ourselves.

Background music was perfectly-pitched, at a civilised volume and at no point did the staff break into a hysterical song and dance routine, which was a relief.

We skipped dessert but we’re told the pavlova is legendary. The bill came to €67.20, a little pricey for a mid-week dinner perhaps, but we certainly felt value for money was had – and we’ll definitely go again.